


Lifeline

by lavvyan



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Schmoop, actually the ending might well be described as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: He didn't know who his confused brain had been aiming at. Because those hallucinations had been for comfort, pure and simple, and yet what he remembered about them was how a lot of them had seemed to end with him bleeding. It had been Steve who was blissfully unaware of Danny's death, Steve who was surrounded by people who loved him. Steve who was at his happiest when he could poke fun at Danny, and so Danny wasn't sure if he'd imagined a joyful future for himself or... or if it had been for Steve all along.Another episode tag to 8x10 and 8x11. Still all the feels.





	Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgharison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/gifts).



> So there was [this post on Tumblr](http://h50europe.tumblr.com/post/171635327543/mcdanno-dannys-life-hanging-on-a-thread-at-this) and I spilled feels all over it and then [bgharison](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/pseuds/bgharison) said please and I went to bed and mulled it over and when I got up someone else had also said please, but I sincerely dislike writing meta. 
> 
> However, I do love writing fic, so. Have some fic?
> 
> Spoilers for 8x10 and 8x11, obviously, and with those episodes comes the **mention of life-threatening injuries.** Also, this story contains like, one spoken word, the rest is introspection. I know some people don't like that, so if that's not your jam, remember The Back-Button will be with you. Always.
> 
> Not beta-read, concrit welcome.

When Danny remembered the shooting, he mainly remembered two things.

The first thing was how, for one crazy second between keeling over and hitting the floor, his bad knee had hurt more than the gunshot wound. He remembered thinking that this was weird, right? His goofy ACL shouldn't cause more pain than a bullet ripping through his body. But that floor had been hard and kneeling always came with at least a twinge, and being unable to keep his weight off his knees as he fell forward hadn't done him any favors. 

The second thing he remembered was Steve. He remembered how Steve had already been reaching for him before their shooter had killed himself. He remembered the way Steve's voice had first cracked and then softened. He remembered thinking that this was bad, this was very bad, because the only times Steve's voice had gone that soft on him had been the times when Danny, if not at death's door, hat at least been within knocking distance. He remembered how Steve had repeated the same reassurances over and over until they blurred into one babbling stream of meaningless murmurs. 

He remembered thinking that this was wrong. Steve didn't babble; Steve measured his words like other people measured diamonds, carefully and reluctant to share. Even in emotional moments, Steve's words didn't come out as a single spill so much as a halting dribble. 

Steve had been afraid. He'd been so afraid, for Danny, and Danny hadn't really known what he was doing until he'd already reached out. Until he'd pulled together what energy he had left to raise his arm and put his hand on Steve's wrist. Until he'd brushed his thumb over the warm skin there in a silent, _I'm still here._ And Steve's voice had stumbled to a halt, just for a moment, and when it came back it was stronger, more focused. More like Steve. 

And the thing was, everything after that became increasingly fuzzy, but Danny knew he'd been hallucinating all kinds of stuff. About Grace, about Charlie... but mainly about Steve. 

What he _didn't_ know was who his confused brain had been aiming at. Because those hallucinations had been for comfort, pure and simple, and yet what he remembered about them was how a lot of them had seemed to end with him bleeding. It had been Steve who was blissfully unaware of Danny's death, Steve who was surrounded by people who loved him. Steve who was at his happiest when he could poke fun at Danny, and so Danny wasn't sure if he'd imagined a joyful future for himself or... or if it had been for Steve all along. 

He knew Steve loved him. As a partner, as a friend, as a brother, Steve loved him, and Danny wanted him to be happy because he loved Steve back. Of course he did; how could he not? And he knew how desperately Steve hated losing the people he cared about. But apparently Danny's brain had somehow, in a jump worthy of at least an Olympic tryout, turned that into the conclusion that Steve's future could only truly be happy with Danny close beside him. Danny's stupid brain had been reaching out to try and comfort Steve with shining visions of things to come even as Danny had been dying, and Danny...

Danny didn't know what to do with that. 

~~~

He never knew what to do, was the thing. One of the reasons Danny hated relationships was that, unless something gave him a push, he tended to run in circles. Like, for a completely random example, his relationship with Steve. 

First, he'd realize that something had to be done, or they'd keep carrying on the way they always had. Which wasn't a bad way, far from it, but it wasn't quite right, either. 

Second, he completely and utterly failed to work out exactly _what_ should be done. 

Which meant that, third, he ended up not doing anything at all, and that was just... it was pathetic, was what it was, and yet he never managed to change the pattern. And so they kept carrying on the way they always had and Danny was content on most days, but sometimes all he wanted was to punch himself in the face.

He might be great at figuring out cases, but his private life? Not so much.

~~~

Except it turned out that as Christmas miracles went, Danny was due for another one after he'd put Charlie to bed. 

Because of course Steve had shown up at Danny's house. Steve had shown up at Danny's house every damn day since Danny got released from the hospital, his excuses going from flimsy to blatantly ridiculous. He had misplaced his drill and needed to borrow Danny's; never mind that they had at least three drills lying around at the restaurant. He had run out of milk and needed to borrow some; never mind that he a) had to pass two separate grocery stores on his way to Danny's and b) barely ever drank any milk to begin with. He had a cookie emergency; never mind that he hadn't known Danny _had_ any cookies until he'd stolen them from Santa. 

Danny was a detective, okay? He knew from cover stories. He also knew how to connect and infer, and so he was perfectly aware that Steve eating Santa's cookies hadn't been a crime of opportunity. Steve had gone back to the kitchen for a glass of milk when he could have left Santa's cookies alone and gone to the kitchen to begin with. Steve had taken those cookies with the express intention of starting an argument, and far be it from Danny to refuse him. 

When they argued, even over something as stupid as whether or not Steve had touched the top cookie, everything was normal. When they argued, Steve relaxed and didn't look at Danny like Danny was still bleeding out in front of him. When they argued, Steve could forget about how he'd cut into Danny and added yet more blood to the mess on the table.

So no, it didn't matter one bit if Steve had touched the damn cookie. What mattered was Steve.

Simple as that. 

But even they couldn't keep an argument going for a whole night. Sooner or later, one or both of them would run out of steam and the bickering would trail off into silence.

Silence used to be comfortable between them. Now, it wasn't. 

Now, Steve sat with his forearms on his thighs and his hands dangling between his legs, and why did he always have to spread his legs like that? Why did he have to do that? He always had to take up as much space as humanly possible, like he had to demonstrate his domination to the whole room, or like maybe his pants were uncomfortable because he had a... okay, never mind. 

The point was, Danny noticed the tension return. How could he not? It was right there, in the tightening curl of Steve's fingers, in the press of Steve's forearms into Steve's thighs, in the way Steve's inhalations shortened, just a bit. 

Steve was sitting right there on Danny's couch, but his mind was back in that isolation room, blood on the floor, blood on the table, blood on Steve's fingertips. Danny himself had spent too many quiet moments back in the cockpit of that fucking plane, blood on the floor, blood on his hands, blood on the goddamn controls. It wasn't something that could be contained, and it hurt, okay, even after the fact it hurt so fucking much to see someone you loved lying there, sitting there, dying, and nothing you could do about it. It was scary, it was terrifying, and the thought of Steve going through that...

Danny reached out. Once again, he didn't think about what he was doing until he'd already done it. Once again, the skin of Steve's wrist was warm under his fingers. Danny stroked his thumb over it, couldn't help himself. Fine, dark hairs. Soft, tanned skin. Unbroken; blood rushing underneath, where it belonged. 

Steve's breath hitched. A tremble ran through him, shivers under Danny's palm, and still Danny kept stroking. He stared at his thumb, mesmerized, as it brushed across the side of Steve's wrist, back and forth, the lightest touch. Like Steve might break if Danny pressed to hard. 

"Danny," Steve rasped. 

Danny's lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes were growing wet. He blinked, and blinked again, because he wasn't going to cry on his goddamn couch for no good reason, damn it. 

Steve pulled in a breath and sat a little straighter. Then he seemed to brace himself, and then he... turned over his hand. So now Danny's thumb was caressing the inside of Steve's wrist; there really was no other word to describe what he was doing. 

But he _was_ doing something and maybe this, right here, was Danny's chance to break that tired pattern. 

He followed the blue lines of Steve's arteries, traced them up to Steve's palm. Kept going even as they disappeared; let his fingertips slide across Steve's lifeline until they slipped between Steve's fingers. Steve met him, tucked his hand around Danny's, and squeezed. 

Danny exhaled. 

He raised his eyes to meet Steve's. Steve swallowed, but his gaze was steady. Both of them leaned forward, eyes dropping to the other's lips, their faces almost close enough to touch, almost...

Danny closed his eyes. 

Steve tasted like cookies. Like milk and chocolate chips and coming home. Danny felt the rest of Steve's tension melt away as they sank into the kiss, their hands still clasped between them. They kissed slowly, maybe with too much care, but Danny's pulsed hammered in his chest, his neck, his fucking ears. He felt like they'd already done this, long ago, Steve so familiar to him that a moment that should be earth-shattering... wasn't. 

They'd already loved each other. What was this, other than one more step they took together?

And yet Danny's heart was racing; not in fear, for once, but in elation.

Eventually, long before he'd had his fill, Danny pulled back. He'd probably never have his fill. Steve was smiling, eyes bright, his free hand coming up to rest against the side of Danny's face, thumb trailing gently along Danny's cheekbone. He looked good. He looked happy. 

Danny let himself sway forward again, tightened his fingers around Steve's, and held on.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the blatant overuse of the word "remembered."


End file.
